The Magnate's Marriage Merger. Joanne Rock

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       Two

      Doing his damnedest not to be distracted by the sight of Lydia’s long legs as she sat on the opposite side of the room, Ian paid close attention in the Foxfire meeting, appreciating the favor Jeremy Singer had done by letting Ian step in at the last minute. Having worked with the resort developer on a handful of other projects over the years, Ian understood the man’s style and expectations, so he would offer whatever insights he could on the job site. Since launching his own resort development company on a smaller, more exacting scale than his grandfather’s global McNeill Resorts Corporation, Ian wasn’t normally in the business of overseeing other people’s buildings when he was in a position to design his own. Yet he did enjoy having a hand in specialty public spaces like the foodie-centered resort Singer planned for the revamped Foxfire.

      One of the drawbacks of running his own business was less day-to-day focus on his clients’ concerns, building restrictions and the inevitable permit nightmares. Being on-site now and again gave him renewed awareness of the obstacles in his work. So this brief stint at one of Jeremy Singer’s buildings was no hardship.

      And the payoff promised to be far greater than the sacrifice of his time.

      Ian’s gaze slid to Lydia’s profile as the meeting broke up. She remained in her seat on the opposite side of the room, speaking to a woman in charge of indoor air quality on the job site. The room was full of people who would only play a limited role in the renovation, but Ian had wanted to attend the meeting and get up to speed as quickly as possible. The enclosed courtyard was crowded, too, ensuring Lydia couldn’t walk out the door before he caught up with her.

      Her turquoise dress skimmed her slight curves and was accented by a belt with a thin tortoiseshell buckle emphasizing a trim waist. The hem ended just above her knee, showcasing her legs in high-heeled gold sandals. Her straight dark hair slid over one arm as she turned, still in conversation with the other woman, her dimple flashing once as they continued their animated talk. Clearly, the two of them knew each other, but then again, they moved in a small world of elite professionals.

      Would Lydia try to leave without speaking to him privately? He didn’t think so. She was not a woman to mince words. And while he’d caught her off guard—clearly—by showing up here without her knowledge, she’d had two hours during the meeting to consider her course of action. She would confront him directly.

      The idea tantalized far more than it should have. She’d walked away from him. Worse, she’d meddled in his affairs without his knowledge. Even that, he might have forgiven. But how could she extend her vengeance to his family? She’d matched his brother Cameron to an oblivious stranger. The meeting—and Cameron’s impulsive proposal in the middle of a private airport—had been caught on film by a dance magazine that was doing a special on the ballerina and would-be bride. The episode put their older brother, Quinn, in the awkward position of trying to smooth things over in the media to placate the woman’s furious and embarrassed father.

      Lydia had been responsible for all of that, and Ian wasn’t about to forget it. Even if things had worked out in the end when Quinn fell hard for the ballerina himself. The two were now engaged. Happy.

      Ian exchanged pleasantries with the site manager as the rest of the group filed out through the glass doors and back into the main building, leaving him and Lydia alone in the interior courtyard. A water feature gurgled in the space as yet untouched by the remodel.

      The babble of water over a short rock wall softened the impact of the sudden silence. Shoving to his feet, Ian stalked around the wrought iron table to where Lydia sat, gathering her things and tucking a silver pen into the sleeve inside her leather tote bag.

      “I need to speak with you privately,” she informed him, slinging the tote onto one shoulder as she met his gaze.

      He’d forgotten how green her eyes were. He remembered staring into those jade depths while the two of them stood in a languid pool off the Pacific on a beach in Rangiroa, just north of Tahiti. He’d thought then that her eyes matched the color of the water—not really emerald green or aqua that day, but a brilliant green.

      He’d thought a whole lot of foolish things then, though. A mistake he would not be repeating.

      “I figured you might.” He inclined his head. “My car is outside.”

      For the briefest moment, she nipped her lower lip. Uncertain? Or unwilling?

      Or tempted? Ah...

      “We might as well work while we talk,” he explained. He didn’t want her to think he planned to cart her off and ravish her at the first opportunity, the way he once would have after a tedious two-hour meeting. “Traffic should be reasonable at this hour. We can drive over to Singer’s inspiration hotels and take a look around.”

      “Of course.” She pivoted on her heel and preceded him toward the exit. “Thank you.”

      His eyes dipped to the gentle sway of her hips in the turquoise silk, the hint of thigh visible in the short slit at the back of her skirt. He didn’t recognize the dress, but the thighs were a different story. He and Lydia had been crazy about each other, tearing one another’s clothes off at the slightest opportunity. One time, they’d barely made it to an outdoor shower stall on their way up to his villa from the beach.

      Now her hair had grown longer, reaching to the middle of her back. Last year, it had been cut in a razor-sharp line across the middle of her shoulder blades. Today, it draped lower, the ends trimmed in a V that СКАЧАТЬ